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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26343337">Postmortem</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotJasonTodd/pseuds/NotJasonTodd'>NotJasonTodd</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DC Extended Universe, DCU, DCU (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>dont read if you dont like gore, like extreme gore, super gory</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:42:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,269</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26343337</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotJasonTodd/pseuds/NotJasonTodd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Exploration of extreme gore in relation to Jason Todd's death and ressurection. Seriously don't read if you don't like graphic violence. Autopsy warning</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a graphic description of Jason's revival, and please don't read if you have any gore triggers or triggers involving autopsy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Jason woke from his sedation, the first thing he noticed was the musky odor of the room he was lying in. The hair on the back of his neck stood on edge as he tried to right his body, adjusting his eyesight to the dim light of the warehouse. A twinge of familiarity tugged at his mind, begging him to be alert. His heart started beating faster and faster as he struggled against his restraints, his arms were tied behind his back with a makeshift noose. Jason was sure if he could only <em>see</em> the knot, he could untie it.</p><p> </p><p>His breathing was labored, each breath seeming like he was swimming through mush to reach the surface. He <em>in</em>correctly assumed he had been sedated, and kidnapped. As his breathing labored again, he tried to search his memories that would explain this current situation. There was a dull ache, in his ribcage, and as each breath became more painful, Jason assumed he had a few broken ribs. His eyes started swimming, making the lights in the room dance in his vision.</p><p> </p><p>As he slowed his breathing the way Bruce had taught him, he looked around for any clues. The warehouse was mostly empty, but Jason was trapped in some sort of cell-type prison. The bars on either side of him didn’t look sturdy, perhaps they had been used to house a large animal at some point. As the knot holding his arms together began to loosen, he heard footsteps approaching.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“-can’t keep him caged like a wild animal,” Jason could hear a woman’s voice quietly say from the darkness beyond. “It’s inhumane.”</p><p> </p><p>“He <em>is</em> an animal,” A deeper voice said, much closer this time. Jason could hear the footsteps approaching but focused on the knot behind his back.  The air was hitting his chest in a cool way, almost giving him goosebumps, but he didn’t dare look down at his chest.</p><p> </p><p>It was at this point Jason realized how hurt he really was. As he shivered lightly, the rope dropped from behind his back, letting his arms swing free. His fingers felt sore from all the work. As Jason attempted to stand, he noticed two things. One, he was bleeding badly from a hastily stitched wound on his chest. Second, that wound was in the formation of a capital Y, stretching from across his shoulders and meeting at a single line going down his abdomen from his collarbones.</p><p> </p><p>Jason kneeled down, bringing one hand up to his bloody stomach. Ironically the first thing that crossed his mind was why he was naked, and not where the injuries had come from.</p><p> </p><p>“Look at him,” The deeper voice said from the darkness again, “You must admit, this is quite spectacular anyhow.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” The woman agreed, neither of them seeming startled about the blood or the obvious care Jason needed. “Although I am still worried about the <em>mental</em> effect this may have on him.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason blinked several times, looking down at the stitches across his stomach. They didn’t even look like stitches, they looked like quickly done staples to keep his insides from falling out. The dull ache got stronger and stronger as he admired the wound. He lost interest in the voices, and the cage he was in, or the sedation that seemed to keep his mind sluggish. Looking only at the cuts, the fire in Jason’s chest grew hotter. It felt almost like his ribs had been broken right down the middle, at center of his ribcage where they connected.</p><p> </p><p>Blinking again, he tried to block out the pain in the way he remembered doing before.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Before, he remembered giving up. He was in a warehouse like this one. His mind was sharp and alert, but would have no memory of this part. This was the worst part. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>As the Joker brought his crowbar over and over again, crushing and crunching what felt like very bone in Jason’s body. He laid there, not feeling any of it. Not feeling the hurt and the pain. The loss of his family. No one had come for him. He was dying alone. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Jason could feel a cold damp wetness against his check, but didn’t wipe the tears away. He didn’t know why he was crying anyway. As he looked down at the wound again, he tranced over the long incision with a finger, smearing the blood down his abdomen. <em>There was something inside. </em></p><p> </p><p>“-should not have let the autopsy take place,” The woman said, snapping Jason from his meditation. The man didn’t respond, he just watched Jason from the shadows. This was all a game to him, a way to cheat the gods from death. Only he had the power to resurrect life, and he wanted to test it. How gone was too far gone?</p><p> </p><p>Jason began to pick at one of the staples, feeling the hot fire go through his nerves, he was alive. How was any of this happening? The two watched him explore his new body. There was nothing they could say, this was his future.</p><p> </p><p>As his fingers got more frantic, he fought away the thoughts in his mind that he knew were true. One side of the staple came lose, sending a current of blood down his stomach. He used his might and ripped the other side out, making himself audibly gasp and groan slightly. The blood came pouring now, and Jason wondered slightly how much was even left inside of him.</p><p> </p><p>The woman made a few steps forward before she was stopped suddenly, her heels making a single clack on the floor as she was held back by her own father. Jason didn’t care, he kept working on the staples franticly. Another one popped loose and fell through the bars in his cage, hitting the floor with a <em>tink</em> sound. The tears falling down his cheeks grew worse, and he started to hiccup like the child he was as he reached two fingers inside his abdomen. He could feel it, there inside him.</p><p> </p><p>A loud scream pierced through the warehouse, but Jason didn’t register it was him making the noise. He pinched the filmy plastic and yanked it as hand as he could from his stomach. A few more staples popped as Jason pulled whatever it was out from inside his abdomen. When his fingers reappeared, covered in blood, Jason didn’t register what he was holding onto at first. It <em>hurt</em>, and he looked down at the large bag he was holding with one hand.</p><p> </p><p>It was a yellow biohazard bag, dripping blood, half still inside his abdomen as he had only managed to pull a small corner from the inside of his chest cavity. Jason could feel himself dry heaving, and the bag moved with him, convulsing as if it was alive as well. Jason let go of the plastic and put his hands down firmly on the bars of the cage as he hurled. The blood made everything slippery, and Jason could feel his consciousness waning again.</p><p> </p><p>He looked down one last time, half convinced he was dreaming. But no, the corner of the bag still hung outside his abdomen, like a colostomy bag filling with blood and entrails. Hanging his head and arms outside the cage, he lost consciousness like that. Talia shook her head, disappointed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yeah i like torturing people</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>When Jason awoke again, he was stitched up properly, good and tight. He could feel the skin warm under his touch, burning at the pain from the staples being taken out only a few hours before. He didn’t open his eyes, placing his palm flat over his chest where the two incisions met below his collarbones. As he breathed, his chest heaved up and down, his healing ribcage protesting angrily. His fingers dully ached, behind the fire down the stitches. For a moment, he felt safe. Like he was back at the Manor, with his family. Sure he was hurt, but when wasn't he? Bruce and Alfred and even Dick would help him, they would make sure he healed as good as new. For a moment, he could let himself believe that. </p><p> </p><p>Before he had the chance to open his eyes, he was hit with a barrage of memories. Memories he didn’t want to have at that exact time. Flashes through his mind of blood and crowbars, <em>where was he? </em>The last thing he had remembered, he was caged like an animal in some warehouse, probably by Ra’s. Before? It was dark. He remembered going out on that mission, alone in the dead on night. He had promised he would radio if he had any contact with any of Joker's goons. Bruce didn't like letting him go out, but had said he was right behind if there was trouble. <em>Where was he?</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The first time this happened, he was alone then too. As he struggled to breathe against the damp air in his coffin, his chest was screaming against the freshly broken ribcage and stapled skin. Something sent him into a panic then, most likely the confined space he was in. The feeling of his breath hitting him back square in the face could only mean he was trapped somewhere, lying in a box. He could feel himself screaming against the tight space, and he didn’t realize he was saying his father’s name until later. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>As his panic grew hotter and hotter in his stomach he should have thought of the Joker. He should have panicked that this was another twisted game. But he didn’t think at all. Jason had no idea he was in his funeral suit, buried for several days now. His mind was twisted, the neurons firing in the place of what had been dead cells only minutes before. He could only reach his arms up to his breast, where he scraped his nails against the hardwood above him. It felt like every nerve in Jason's body had suddenly been lit with a match, alive and raw to the touch. Everything hurt and he could only scream and scrape against his coffin, powerless to understand the actual seriousness of his situation.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>As he screamed and clawed his nails on the wood, carving his way out of his own grave, he could feel himself using up oxygen that would soon be precious. If he was listening to his training, somewhere in the deep hidden, still dead parts of his mind. There was a need to save energy, and save oxygen. Someone would hear him, someone would come for him. But, he didn’t care, he couldn't care. No one had come for him last time. He knew he would need the air, but he couldn’t rationalize himself at all. As the wood above him started to creak against the weight of the dirt, Jason could feel his fingers starting to tingle and zap is nerves with pain. As he worked higher and higher up the wood, he noticed pieces of something falling on him. He didn’t stop a moment to think, and it felt as if he almost couldn’t anymore. His body was going without being told to anymore. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Before the wood cracked open, Jason noticed several ripping and tearing sounds. He falsely connected it to the wood containing him giving way, and the dirt had to have been falling on him now. But no, Bruce had sprung for the good casket, with velvet lining on the base. The chunks of wood falling on him were not, in fact, wood. But fingernails and good amount of blood, falling as if rain from his bloody stumps ripping at the coffin above. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>When the wood did finally give way, a cascade of dirt came falling through the open hole just long enough for Jason to punch his arms through fully. He reached one arm up as high as he could, before gulping one last breath of sandy air. As if ascending from hell, Jason clutched the top of the soil, breaching one hand through the dirt and hoisting himself up above ground. He wretched, coughing and wheezing the dirt from his lungs. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>It would have been a sight, the bloody corpse of a boy, bleeding under his suit rising from the grave. His staples had opened up, as if the blood had just realized it was supposed to be flowing. As Jason hunched over, he vomited, crying out tears and fear and anger. He didn’t know why he was angry, or why he was upset. He didn't think anything. It wasn’t logic driving out of the ground that night, it was pure passion to live. At least, that’s how Talia told him to rationalize it later. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>When Jason opened his eyes, the first thing he looked for were his fingernails. The light was bright. Alfred had just opened the curtains, and it was time for breakfast. He overslept the night before, and had a nightmare about the Joker. He was home, with the people he loved most. He had to be. Alfred had made food, and he could imagine the smells from the kitchen, the sound of Bruce wandering in after a long night of crime fighting, and the happiness of being somewhere he truly was <em>loved.</em> </p><p>
  
</p><p>As Jason opened his eyes, his heart stopped beating, if just for a moment again. His fingernails were all gone except a few severely chipped ones. His thumbs were bandaged and his index finger was still throbbing and bleeding slightly. The skin was raw and exposed, open to the world, and Jason thought he could see a splinter of wood embedded down deep behind his cuticle.</p><p> </p><p>He shut his eyes again.</p>
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